


Smoke Rings

by GSister



Category: Numb3rs (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:35:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23668489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GSister/pseuds/GSister
Summary: Author's Note: Takes place early in Season 2 – or late in Season 1 after Terry Lake leaves.  All characters belong to CBS, Paramount Pictures and Scott Free Productions.Thanks also go to BMP & Van, for beta-ing, for encouraging me to write all these years, and for hours upon hours of debating the characterization and actions of people that are only real in our imaginations.  And for listening to me squee about fandoms they are not involved in.   Thanks also to Wolfpup for making and managing the Numb3rs archive, and to the great people at Numb3rCrunching for hours of informative discussion on the characterization, motivations, and backgrounds of the characters of Numb3rs.The statistics within were accurate for the time the story was written.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	Smoke Rings

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Takes place early in Season 2 – or late in Season 1 after Terry Lake leaves. All characters belong to CBS, Paramount Pictures and Scott Free Productions. 
> 
> Thanks also go to BMP & Van, for beta-ing, for encouraging me to write all these years, and for hours upon hours of debating the characterization and actions of people that are only real in our imaginations. And for listening to me squee about fandoms they are not involved in. Thanks also to Wolfpup for making and managing the Numb3rs archive, and to the great people at Numb3rCrunching for hours of informative discussion on the characterization, motivations, and backgrounds of the characters of Numb3rs. 
> 
> The statistics within were accurate for the time the story was written.

Don Eppes leaned back in the Adirondack chair in the back yard and stretched his long legs out in front of him. He took a moment to stretch his arms over his head, arching his back before bringing them down to rest on the wooden arms of the chair. He was feeling really good right now, right at this moment, sitting in the half shade by the Koi pond behind the house he had grown up in. His team had captured the kidnappers that they had been after, had found the young girl shaken but unharmed, and returned her safely to her family. And they had done it with good investigative skills, and no help from Charlie. 

Don grimaced to himself. That wasn't really fair. Charlie was a lot of help. If he wasn't, he wouldn't be a consultant for the FBI. And Don was the one that had recruited him. But sometimes, Don admitted to himself, sometimes it was just nice to be able to be the one that solved the case without help from his genius little brother. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar. The last case had been intense, he had almost had to go to Charlie for help, but luck and a first time kidnapper had been on their side. He smiled suddenly. The little girl had been kidnapped by her father and transported across state lines, putting it into federal territory. He could quote Charlie the statistics of how many kidnappings were done by non-custodial parents as opposed to strangers off the streets. He grew serious. In a way, it was safer for the children to be kidnapped by a parent than by a stranger. But not always. All too often, there was a good reason said parent didn't have custody. 

But that was over. He could relax, kick back, smoke a cigar to celebrate… He smiled again as he carefully bit the end off the cigar and spat it in the grass. The little girl's uncle had just days before become a father himself. He was so overjoyed at his niece's safe return that he had passed out cigars sporting pink bands proclaiming "It's A Girl" to all the agents involved, Megan included. And darned if Don didn't think that she'd smoke it, too. He chuckled around a puff as he lit the rolled tobacco. 

That was how Alan Eppes found his son some fifteen minutes later – stretched out in the Adirondack chair, puffing on a cigar, and chucking over his thoughts. "What's so funny?" he asked his eldest son, as he settled himself in the opposite chair.

"Just thinking about something at work. We solved a case today. Got the bad guy, rescued a little girl… And did it all with solid investigative teamwork. No special math algorithms."

"Did it all with no help from your little brother you mean."

"Yeah, well… Dad, you know what I mean. I mean, Charlie's great, and he's been a big help. There are a lot of cases that we never would have solved without him. And I'm the one that brought him into the FBI as a consultant, first on that bank thing, and then with his algorithm for finding the point of origin of that serial rapist… I mean, don't get me wrong, I love him, it's just sometimes..."

"Sometimes it's nice to be able to do your job without going to your baby brother for help," Alan finished.

"Yeah," Don admitted sheepishly, remembering an argument he'd had with Charlie not three feet away, when he told him he didn't know how it happened that he needed his little brother's help to do his job. He'd scared Charlie that day; he'd grabbed him and shaken him, and scared him with the violence in him, when Charlie was already frightened by the violence in Don's world. Violence that had gotten up close and personal with Don in the form of a bullet grazing his arm; violence that had sent Charlie's mind skittering for the safety of P vs. NP, and the comfort of equations that will never end, and never leave him; and math that could go on forever, eternal, immortal, the perfect never ending equations that would never die, like people could, so they were safe to love. In a way, Don envied Charlie that refuge. He contemplated the cigar in his hand, as he mused that for him, when he couldn't turn his brain off it was more likely to get stuck in a loop of flashbacks from past cases. Images of violence and bloodshed. Those were the days he especially envied his brother's ability to get lost in the clean precision of math and numbers. 

"You got another one of those?" Alan asked, breaking in on what he could see were thoughts that were becoming a bit too introspective. They always joked that Charlie was the broody one, and he did have a tendency to hang on to something long past when he should let it go, but Donnie was no slouch when it came to brooding either. He was just better at hiding it from everyone else. He took things to heart, as much as his brother did or more, because God knew they had always tried to shield Charlie from the harsher aspects of life. In a way, it was to protect his innocence, when his brain would have thrust him into an adult world much too early. But maybe they did the job a little too well. They had managed to protect Charlie's innocence so well that once he started working with Don some of that innocence was brutally ripped away. But how much of that would he have lost in the normal course of growing up, if he hadn't had his parents and older brother there to shield him from the harsher aspects of life? And in doing so, did they force Donnie to grow up too soon? Did they steal his innocence, to protect his brother's? Alan didn't like the feeling that they had robbed Peter to pay Paul, only the coin was his sons… 

"Yeah, actually, I do. Want one?" Don asked, fishing another cigar out of his shirt pocket. "We were given these at work. They were under the financial amount for gift tokens, and since the case was closed at the time… the director said it was alright. I think he just couldn't wait to get his hands on a good cigar."

"Grateful parent?" Alan asked, noticing the band.

"Grateful uncle. And new father. So in a way, it was still just him celebrating his new arrival." Don grinned. "Megan accepted one; I think she may even smoke it. Colby said he hadn't had a good cigar in years. But I'm not sure that he'll actually smoke it. David took one, too, was very polite about it, but as soon as we were alone he handed his to me. Said he was trying to quit. All he asked was that I didn't smoke it around him."

"So you're at your brother's to smoke it." 

"Well, I figured you'd be out sooner or later to share."

"I like your thinking." Alan bit off the tip, spitting it carefully away from the Koi pond. He leaned forward for Don to light the other end, inhaling in satisfaction. 

The two men relaxed by the fishpond for a while, smoking the cigars and keeping the talk light of inconsequential things. Alan was teaching Don to make smoke rings when Charlie came out the back door. 

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Alan answered, knowing it was all going to hit the fan, and there was something that was just wrong about a grown man being taken to task by his own son. And his youngest son at that. 

"It looks like you're ignoring your doctor's orders. Didn't Doctor Blaski tell you to stop smoking?" 

"What he told me was I had to cut back on the cigars. And I have. I'm allowed to have one a week, and this is it." 

"Wait a minute, you didn't tell me your doctor cut you off," Don protested.

"You didn't ask," Alan replied. "Not that it's any of your business. Or Charlie's. It's my life, and what I do with it is my own business."

"It's our business when what you're doing is endangering your life, Dad," Charlie protested. He turned to his brother. "His doctor made him all but cut out the cigars and whiskey. He can have one cigar a week and what, two whiskeys or four beers a week?" He checked the facts with Alan, who gave him a glare for his trouble. "He usually has the beers. And you!" he rounded on Don, "I can't believe you don't know better than to be smoking!"

"Charlie, I smoke a cigar once in a while. I'd hardly call that a… a grand offence!"

"Cigarette smoking is the number one cause of preventable deaths in the United States. Every year, cigarettes leave about 31,000 kids fatherless and 12,000 kids motherless. Cigarettes kill one out of every three of its users. Cigarette smoke contains more than 4,000 chemical compounds. Radioactive polonium-210 is found in cigarette smoke, so is methane gas, and carbon monoxide. They use hydrogen cyanide in prison executions and rat poison. It's also found in cigarette smoke. Soups, and cereals, and foods that we consume are required to list their ingredients on their packages, but cigarettes, a product that kills a third of its users, are not required to list any of the 599 possible additives. Cigarettes and other smoking materials are the number one cause of fire deaths in the U.S."

"Charlie…" Alan protested.

Charlie spoke faster, determined to get the facts out before his brother shut his ears like his father apparently had. "Don, there are 8.5 million people sick with diseases caused by smoking. In the U.S., about 440,000 people die a tobacco related death each year. In fact, since 1964, there have been 12 million tobacco related deaths in the United States. By the year 2020, tobacco is projected to kill about 10 million people a year world wide. In fact, every eight seconds, someone in the world dies from a smoking related disease. Today in the U.S., tobacco products will kill about 1,200 people. Tobacco kills more Americans than auto accidents, homicides, AIDS, drugs, and fires combined. In the U.S., about 50,000 people die from second hand smoke related diseases each year. Because of the tobacco industry's products, about 339 people in the U.S. die of lung cancer every day. There is enough evidence out there that proves that smoking causes cancer… do you really think that Mom would want you to be taking that risk?"

Don looked at his little brother. He wasn't so much stunned at the facts and figures that Charlie had memorized, all it took was a number in the fact and it seemed to be permanently cemented to Charlie's brain. But the final plea was one that he couldn't argue against. Coupled with what Don privately called Charlie's puppy dog eyes, those brown eyes looking at him under raised eyebrows in concern or begging for something, and he had a hard time resisting. His old partner Terry Lake would tell him it was a good thing that Charlie seemed to be unaware of his powers. Now Don wasn't so sure that Charlie didn't know what that look did to the people around him. 

"One thing wrong with your data there, Charlie," Alan put in, breaking the moment between his sons. "These are cigars, not cigarettes."

Charlie rounded angrily on his father. "And that's better how?" he demanded. "There's a reason your doctor has been telling you to quit smoking them, or at least limit the number of them that you do smoke. They're not healthy. They will shorten your life. And I for one am not ready to lose you."

"At least there won't be any arguing over who gets the house," Alan quipped wryly, trying to lighten the moment.

Don added his glare to Charlie's at the black humor.

"That's not funny, father," Charlie bit out coolly, the words clipped. He turned back toward his brother to press his advantage. "Don, just think of what those things are doing to the insides of your lungs. You were an athlete – know how important lung capacity is in relation to the ability to run fast. You keep smoking cigars, and imagine what will happen to your speed. I could show you the math if you wanted."

"No, that's alright Charlie," Don refused, trying to ignore his brother's beseeching eyes. 

"How many times has your ability to run helped you take down a perp? Or saved your life? What if you were to lose just a tenth of a second because you smoked just two cigars a month? Would it affect your performance? Would the suspect get away? Would it put you in danger, put someone on your team in danger?" 

"Charlie that's not fair," Alan admonished, seeing the guilt pass over his oldest son's face. 

"No, no, he's right, Dad. I have a responsibility to the team to be in the best shape possible. I wouldn't let one of the others in the field if they were knowingly under the weather, for their own safety, as well as that of the team. It's only fair that I adhere to that as well."

"We're not talking about being on duty with the flu, Don, we're taking about smoking," Alan felt obliged to point out.

"We're talking about something that inhibits your performance. Charlie just said it, Dad. What if smoking just two cigars a month takes a tenth of a second off my speed? That starts to add up, you know."

"It can't be too bad!" Alan protested. "There is no regulation against smoking in the FBI," he stated with conviction.

"Well, actually, there is. There is no smoking inside the building, it's a government agency," Charlie piped in.

"Charlie," Alan reprimanded him with a glare. 

Don ignored the exchange as he answered his father. "No, but there is a physical fitness requirement for field agents. That's why the agents that smoke become desk jockeys sooner than the non-smokers. Or take early retirement. I don't want to take that risk." He reached down and stubbed his half-smoked cigar out on a patch of dirt on the ground. 

"Well, I'm not ready to give this up just yet," Alan stated stubbornly, taking a puff of his cigar and blowing a perfect smoke ring. Charlie watched in rapt fascination despite himself. 

"How do you do that?" he found himself asking.

"It's not something that can be explained," Alan stated smugly. "It can only be taught by demonstration."

"Dad, you are not going to get Charlie to smoke to satisfy his curiosity about smoke-rings!" Don protested, appalled. 

"No, no I'm not. And I'm glad that your brother doesn't smoke. I don't want him to start, and I'm proud of him for not giving in to the peer pressure that I'm sure was out there." Alan turned serious eyes from one son to the other. "But Charlie, you have to realize that I started smoking a long time before you were born. Long before we knew any of the risks. And I like the taste of it. That's why I smoke. I enjoy it. Not because I'm addicted and I can't stop, but because I don't want to stop. Now I gave up cigarettes twenty five years ago. I don't think it's unreasonable to enjoy the occasional cigar." 

"What about you, Don, why did you start?"

"I dunno, I guess 'cause in a way it reminded me of Dad. You know, I didn't start smoking in high school, or college. It wasn't until I was in the FBI that I smoked my first cigar."

"What happened?" Charlie asked. 

Alan turned interested eyes on his son, keeping quiet, feeling like if he said anything, Don might brush off the account as just a minor incident from his past. Don rarely opened up about his early days in the FBI, partly, Alan knew, from his own misgivings of his son in a profession that he had animosity with. 

"I was a rookie. They had just given me my first partner. Jason was older, but sharp as a tack. He didn't miss a trick. He had a way of reading the suspect, you know? He just seemed to know when the perp would run, and which way he'd go. He taught me so much. From the moment that I met him, there was something about him, like, you just knew he was one of the good guys. He was the one that the brass would send to talk to the witnesses that were too scared to remember anything. Jason just seemed to make them feel safe. He kind of reminded me of Dad. Anyway, he used to smoke these cigars when he was thinking. First day on the job, he asked me if I minded that he smoked. Like I couldn't tell. I mean, he reeked of cigar smoke, you could see the tobacco stains on his fingers… I told him that as long as I wasn't trapped in a car with him while he did it, or a little room, it didn't bother me any. So he made me a promise, no smoking in the car. And he kept it, too. He used to smoke his cigars, and stare through the smoke, and I used to watch as the pieces of the case just fell into place for him. Anyway, a few months on the job, I was credited with solving my first case. Not that I did it alone, there was a whole team that helped. But I got the credit for putting it all together. When Jason congratulated me, he handed me a cigar. It just became one of our rituals to celebrate the solving of the big cases with a cigar."

"What ever happened to him? Is he still in the FBI?" Charlie asked, hesitantly. Something in Don's eyes told him no.

Don shook his head. "He was killed a year later. Walked into a convenience store robbery on his day off. The perp was high on PCP- he killed everyone in the store."

"I'm sorry Don," Alan spoke for the first time since his son began. He didn't like the thought of his son losing a partner, but the fact that Don hadn't even told his family… He had chosen to deal with it all himself. 

Don shrugged. "It was a long time ago. But I guess I just developed the habit of celebrating the successful closing of a case, one where we get the perp and rescue the victims, and get the happily ever after for them, with the smoking of a good cigar. Guess I should change that, huh?" Don ran his hand through the back of his hair, not looking at his father or brother.

"Tell you what," Charlie suggested. "How 'bout you tell us when you have one of those really good cases, a cigar-worthy case, and instead of smoking, you come over here and we'll find a better way to celebrate?"

"Better how?" Don asked suspiciously.

"I don't know… I'll spring for dinner out. Or we could have a family night here. What do you say? We'll even start tonight. That is why you were smoking the cigar today, right?"

"Yeah, we closed this kidnapping case today, rescued a little girl."

"So, what do you say?"

Don looked at his younger brother, practically vibrating with the need for him to agree. He then glanced over at his father, still smoking the cigar, but nodding at him to take the offer. Don felt his lips twitch up in the corner. "Ok, you're on. So, what's for dinner tonight, Chuck?"

"You want to try that new steak place in town? I hear they serve a mean rib-eye…"


End file.
